


AC/DC

by misspamela



Category: Invisible Man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	AC/DC

"You think that guy's hiding something?"

Darien leaned slightly to the left and peered around the corner of the wood-paneled wall. The guy in question was a scumbag, no doubt. But was he a _lying_ scumbag? "I don't know. Do you think he's hiding something?"

Hobbes sniffed and shrugged. "I dunno. He's shifty."

"Shifty?"

"Yeah, you know." Hobbes wiggled his hand and made some sort of weird horizontal karate-chop motion that was apparently the universal sign for "sketchy dude." "Shifty. He has shifty eyes."

"And you know this how?"

"Bobby Hobbes knows shifty, my friend. It's like a second sense."

"I think you mean sixth sense."

"No, I don't think so."

Darien sighed, exasperated. "No, there are _five_ senses, and an extra--""

"No, you know, like, it's automatic. I can read a perp before you can say hello, Fawkes."

"I think you mean 'second nature'."

Hobbes frowned and was about to reply, but Mr. Shifty proved that he was smarter than he looked and got the drop on them from behind while they were arguing. _Wham! Wham!_ The scumbag nailed them each with a barstool upside the head, then hauled ass into the alley behind the bar.

Reeling, Darien and Hobbes hauled their own asses right behind him.

 

&gt;&gt;&gt;

Two hours, a footrace and an unfortunate encounter with a dumpster later, they dragged themselves into The Official's office.

"Well, don't you boys look pretty." His smug grin was erased by a grimace as he got a whiff of them. "Eberts! Get a tarp! And some of that pine spray!"

"I'm sorry, next time we go chasing after crooks, we'll avoid the yucky parts of town." Darien tried in vain to push his limp hair out of his eyes.

"Yucky?" Hobbes snorted. "What are you, twelve?"

"Are you saying it wasn't yucky?"

"Didn't they teach you any of the big words in juvie? Vile, disgusting, revolting--" 

"Hobbes!" The Official slapped a file down on his desk. "Thanks to your uncharacteristically fast work, we've nailed the worst counterfeiting ring I've seen in ten years. Nice job."

"Thanks, boss." Hobbes smiled and rocked back on his heels. "We appreciate it."

"Obviously, your reports still need to be filed." Eberts said. "And there is the matter of compensation for --"" He pulled a small piece of paper out of thin air. "Two bar stools, a plate of 'Muy Macho Nachos' and …_four_ bottles of Heineken."

"I'll have you know that crime fighting is very thirsty work." Darien said.

"However, The Official has magnanimously allowed you two the afternoon off, considering your…" He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "state."

"Hey, you don't smell like a garden of pansies yourself, _Eberts_." Hobbes said.

The Official rattled some papers around on his desk. "Fawkes, go see the Keeper and get your shot. Hobbes, go home and take a bubble bath."

"Yes, sir."

 

&gt;&gt;&gt;

All Darien could think about as he and Hobbes stumbled into his apartment was: shower, food, and bed. In exactly that order.

He felt for the light switch, and --"

_Click_

Click

"Aw, crap."

"What?" Hobbes tensed, suddenly in agent-mode.

"The electricity's out. Must have tripped a breaker."

Darien heard the distinctive metallic _shk-shk_ of a gun being cocked. He turned around to find Hobbes prowling his apartment, gun drawn and efficiently sweeping under the counters for bugs.

"Hobbes, it's just a breaker. Chill out."

"We should call the Maid," Hobbes whispered. "These guys are good."

"Oh, for Christ's --""

A sharp rap at the door cut Darien short. He froze.

Hobbes motioned to him silently, nodding towards the door. Darien grabbed his baseball bat and slipped into place, turning the knob with one hand and raising the bat with the other.

"Freeze! Federal agents!" Hobbes shouted, catapulting himself at the figure in the doorway.

"Hey! Hey! I -- I'm just here to see Mr. Fawkes!"

Darien got a second look at the guy, who Hobbes had pinned against the wall. "Marty?"

"Darien, call your friend off!"

"Hobbes, it's all right. That's Marty, my landlord."

Squinting suspiciously, Hobbes reset the safety on his gun and slowly backed away.

"Uh, I just wanted to let you know that the electrician is coming tomorrow, first thing." Marty ran a shaking hand through his hair. Marty wasn't quite a hippie, but he was that "nearly-responsible aging beach dude" that you saw everywhere in San Diego. Darien had never seen him so rattled.

"Did you say that you were Federal agents?" He edged away from Bobby and turned to face Darien.

"Yeah, we're with the Fish and Game." Darien flashed his badge.

"Oh!" Marty looked confused and slightly relieved. "I thought…" he trailed off.

"You thought what?" Darien crossed his arms.

"Well, you're out a lot of crazy hours and, uh …you don't exactly wear a suit, you know?" he gestured towards Darien's teal shorts. "And you seem to have more money than your average beach bum, so I thought you were, you know …_independently employed_." He winked and elaborately pantomimed smoking a joint.

Oh. Just peachy.

Hobbes caught his eye from behind Marty. _Shifty_, he mouthed and pointed at Darien.

Darien just sighed and opened the door. "Thanks for the heads-up, Marty."

"Hey, no problem, man. Sorry for the misunderstanding."

Darien shut the door behind him. "Don't," he said to Hobbes, who was gleefully rocking back and forth on his heels.

"The olllll' Mary Jane." Oh, Hobbes was loving this.

"You know what? In the interest of keeping you quiet, _you_ can have the first shower." He gave Hobbes a gentle push towards the bathroom."

"Wackyyy Tobackyyy." Hobbes singsonged.

Darien just waved disgustedly at him.

Hobbes cheerfully strode into the bathroom, jacket slung jauntily over his shoulder, whistling "Buffalo Soldier."

Darien went in search of sustenance. He hoped he wouldn't be able to smell himself as he ate.

 

&gt;&gt;&gt;

Stepping out of the shower, Darien grabbed the towel off the bar next to the sink. He dried off quickly, pausing to check for bruises in the mirror. Damn, all that running around after bad guys was as much of a workout as scaling buildings. _Getting some good definition there, Fawkes…_

He reached under the sink and --""Aw, crap."

"What?" Bobby called from the bedroom.

Darien slung the towel around his hips and opened the door. Leaning against the door frame, he said "No electricity, no hair dryer."

Bobby looked up from the newspaper he was reading. He hadn't bothered to get dressed yet. Not that Darien minded. Bobby Hobbes wearing nothing but blue cotton boxers was a fine sight indeed.

Bobby snorted. "Should we call FEMA?"

`"It's going to dry all funny."

"You think your hair isn't funny? I have news for you, my friend."

"Hobbes, you have no style."

"Oh, I know style. Natural beauty, Fawkes. That's the way to go."

"Natural beauty."

"What you see is 100% pure, Grade-A Bobby Hobbes." Hobbes made a Vanna White-like hand motion down the front of his torso. "No additives or preservatives."

"Pure, huh?" Darien stalked towards the bed.

"As the driven snow." Bobby pretended to keep reading the paper.

Darien crawled across the bed and snatched it out of Hobbes' hands. "Really."

"Uh-huh." Hobbes was watching him now; staring with complete and utter concentration.

Hobbes' skin was slightly cool. Darien brushed his lips against his shoulder and murmured, "I just got a shot."

"Mmmm-hmmm." Hobbes had settled himself further into the pillow.

Darien wrapped himself around Hobbes, bumping their foreheads together. "Plenty to spare." He trickled the Quicksilver down Hobbes' spine first, making him shiver. Then, in a cold-hot-tingly rush, he enveloped them both.

Slumping against Hobbes, he closed his eyes --" he always associated Quicksilver-vision with running for his life or ducking for cover.  So, he kept his eyes closed whenever they had sex. It made everything private, and every touch a slight surprise; like his first masturbatory fumblings under his quilt at home.

Hobbes kissed him, hot and fierce. He shoved his shoulder against Darien's and maneuvered him onto the bed, rough and gentle all at once.

No matter what position they started in, Darien always ended up on his back --" stripped down, stripped open, and begging for more. He stretched out, luxuriating in the feel of Hobbes over him. A tongue here, hands there, a slight nip of teeth at his collarbone …he shook, grasping blindly above him. "Please," he whispered.

There was no verbal response, but Hobbes grabbed his thighs and spread them further apart. Darien moaned and slammed his head back down on the pillow. He could feel Hobbes' fingers --" first rough, then slick, and he couldn't help hitching his hips up, begging for more contact.

Finally, Darien felt the pressure, filling him, stretching him deep inside. He pulled Hobbes closer, giving himself over to the rhythmic thrust-in thrust-out and the steady pressure of the muscular ripples of Hobbes' stomach against his cock, until he came, shouting and writhing and tasting flakes of Quicksilver in his mouth. Gasping, Hobbes thrust one more time, desperately, shattering against Darien in a rain of silver.

Darien rolled away, breathing hard. "I'm gonna need another shower."

"Yeah, and your hair's still gonna look like that, so why bother?"

"Mmmm, good point." Darien curled around his pillow and closed his eyes.

"Hey --" don't die on me, Fawkes. I'm starving."

"Leftovers in the fridge," Darien mumbled. "Help yourself."

"I am a brave man, my friend, but I am not suicidal. I'm making you Bobby Hobbes' Huevos Rancheros Especial."

"Mmmmph."

"Fine. Get your rest now, Sleeping Beauty, but I warn you, you are missing a culinary masterpiece."

Darien just smiled and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
